


Never Trust the Wind

by DragonBandit



Category: Shadowscapes Tarot
Genre: Don't Have to Know Canon, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonBandit/pseuds/DragonBandit
Summary: The Nine of Swords is found in a place he shouldn’t be, with an item he shouldn’t have. The Court of Wands sentences him to death.It’s all the Seven of Swords fault of course.





	Never Trust the Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



Trussed up on the back of the Knight of Wands’ antlered steed, the Nine of Swords couldn’t help but think that the lands surrounding the court of wands was incredibly ugly. There was nothing in the dense redwood trees, crowded burrows of a million tiny creatures and the thick smell of just burned wood that called to the air in Nine’s soul. Families of foxes darted between the legs of the Knight of Wands’ huge antlered lion, sniffing curiously as it carried the Knight and his prisoner through the forest. 

Nine turned his face away from them, gazing aimlessly up at the thick canopy made up of a myriad of red, orange and yellow leaves. It had been several days since he had last seen the harsh cliffs and tundra that the court of Swords called home. 

Of course, he was only complaining about the scenery to distract himself from the rest of it. 

His wings had been bound in thick rope, spelled with something that made the white-feathered limbs burn when Nine tried to stretch them past their natural resting point. His hands and feet had been bound in the same rope, and then to the saddle of the Knight of Wands’ steed. There was no way to escape from the bindings. There wasn’t even a way to struggle without pain. 

The Knight had taken everything save for the clothes on Nine’s back. His sword had been taken off him and sealed with a thick wax that stank of a rust enchantment. The simple spellweave that Nine wore curled around his right ear was now clutched in the Knight’s fist, still stained with the blood of Nine’s ear when the Knight had torn it off. 

Not for the first time since Nine had been captured, he cursed his luck. And for good measure cursed the Seven of Swords for getting him into this mess in the first place. 

Above the canopy of the forest, barely visible between the branches of the trees, Nine glimpsed the wheeling silhouette of a group–-a mischief–-of Stormcrows. The huge black birds were a common sight in the Court of Swords. They travelled in flocks, high above in the winds that only the bravest birds challenged. Usually the sight of them would have brought a smile to Nine’s face. Where there were Stormcrows his love was usually not far behind. Both bird and man had far too much in common, both mischief loving and neither had the sense to know when to stop sticking their beaks in trouble. 

At the moment though, Nine found himself scowling up at the sky. “If you see my love,” he mouthed up at the birds, “you tell him what has happened to me thanks to one of his schemes!”

There was no answer of course. The crows continued their wheeling, carefree dance high above the forest. He watched their forms until he and the Knight were so deep in the Forest of Wands that there was not even a glimpse of sky left between the thick blanket of branches and leaves. 

Nine turned his head away from the sight. Instead watching the dirt footpath that twisted around the lush, new undergrowth that poked through the ashy soil of the forest. He didn’t recognise many of the plants; it was a rare sight to see greenery in the court of Swords, and he whiled away the minutes of his captivity giving the plants and insects increasingly wild names. 

It was only when the Knight stopped in the middle of the road that piqued Nine’s interest enough to lift his head to see what was in front of them. 

The road had disappeared entirely, in its place there was an expanse of untamed forest. Directly in front of the Knight of Wands’ lion there was a huge wooden staff stuck upright in the earth. Around the staff had grown a spiral of red flowers, glowing eerily with potent magical energy. This staff was a gateway then, if not a Wand in it’s own right, Nine realised. He took in the gnarled, twisted form of a branch that had been folded in half, creating a large circle at the top of the staff before twining around itself in a spiral to make the stave. The staff itself had started to grow small, fan-like yellow and red leaves around that circle. 

At the foot of the staff, staring up at the Knight was a large fox with a sigil of a black spiral across it’s haunch. 

“Ace,” the Knight greeted.

The fox blinked it’s eyes slowly in acknowledgment. It tilted its head, taking in the spectacle of Nine trussed up on the back of his steed, silently asking for explanation. 

“Tell the King and Queen I’ve returned,” the Knight said. He paused, grinning a smile that was all teeth, “Tell them that I bring gifts.” 

The Ace nodded, pointed ears flicking. It turned, bounding into the undergrowth of the forest. There was a rustle of grass, a curious sensation that the world had shifted slightly as the hollow space in the circle of the staff lit up with a thousand golden threads of a spellweave activating. Between one blink and the next, the Ace of Wands had vanished completely, along with any trace of the spellweave. The only trace that remained was the smell of burned spice; the scent that all magic performed by the Court of Wands carried. 

The Knight leaned back in his saddle, fingers tapping on the reins. While his handsome features gave no sign of any agitation, Nine felt in the air that the Knight was not a man who was used to being kept waiting. 

His steed held none of the Knight’s composure. It pawed at the ground, tossing it’s great head in agitation the longer that they waited in front of the Ace’s wand. As the minutes crawled by, the steed’s anxiety had progressed to snapping at the passing foxes and badgers that dared get close enough. 

Nine closed his eyes, endeavouring to doze for as long as they stayed stationary enough to do so. But even in slumber there was no real peace to be found. His thoughts betrayed him by throwing up images of Seven the last time they had been together. It had been storming that day. The sky turned that familiar grey-blue that threatened gales with thick sheets of rain and hail before it quietened. Nine had felt like that storm, shouting at Seven for how much of an idiot he was for thinking that Nine would ever want a gift that was so obviously stolen. 

Nine was not fool enough to think that none of the trinkets that Seven had gifted him over their time together had all been acquired through benign means. But there was a difference in accepting the brooch made by a Named One that could have been picked up from anywhere, and a plant that only grew in one small part of a territory that was not governed by the Court of Swords. 

The Knight’s patience ended even sooner than Nine had expected. He opened his eyes as the Knight made an aggrieved sound in the back of his throat, “They’re mistaken if they think I’m going to wait for them,” he said. He kicked his mounts side, urging it forwards. “Let’s give the Court something interesting to talk about shall we?” 

“I don’t think it wise to cross your monarchs,” Nine said, not caring a whit if the Knight got in trouble or not. As far as he could work out, it had only been fifteen minutes since the Ace had vanished, if that. There had been many a time when Nine’s own monarchs had been too busy to see him for hours. 

The Knight smirked, “I am not crossing my monarchs, I’m showing initiative. Surely they’ll want my news as soon as Ace informs them I’m back. They like it when a Knight can anticipate their wants.” His lips curled into an even crueler smile, “Though I’m sure you know all this considering who you used to be.” 

Nine’s turned his head away, looking down at his his bound wrists hanging over the Knight’s mount. He could feel his cheeks heating with familiar, old shame. “That was a long time ago,” he said. 

The Knight said, “I remember you coming to our court once, before the wheel turned. Your hair was finer then. And you wore a sword at your belt that gleamed with how much magic you wielded. To see you now… How the mighty have fallen.” 

Nine said nothing. He watched with dull eyes as the Knight raised his gauntleted hand and unlocked the spellweave placed in the Ace of Wands’ staff. Once again the air around the forest took on the scent of burned spices, and the staff’s open circle filled with a web made from the golden threads of the spell. 

The Knight’s steed started to move, heavy footfalls as it came so close to the staff that it’s nose was almost pressed to the golden thread. A breath later and Nine’s vision was filled with a blinding, piercing light. He cried out, turning his head away. He only opened them again when he felt the beasts movement under him slow, and then completely halt. 

The forest was gone. 

Where before there had been tall, oppressive trees with tall shadows, and the smell of a recent fire rising from unworked earth, there was now smooth, polished wood floors and walls. Inset into the pale wood were worked metals: bronzes and coppers and silvers that formed intricate decorations that formed the likeness of fire when Nine put them into the peripheries of his vision. From the ceiling hung a myriad of red, yellow, and white crystals. All of them glowing with a soft light that cast down on the court below as a warm summer’s day. The Palace of Fire had not changed much since the turning of the wheel. Nine remembered looking up at those crystals before, as a different man. 

Arranged at a respectful distance away from the Knight and his horned lion were other members of the Court of Wands. Their features pointed and foxlike, openly curious at the spectacle that the Knight had made for them. It was not every day that one saw the Nine of Swords trussed up like a piece of game from the back of the Knight of Wands’ steed. 

The Knight dismounted, leaving Nine where he was. Without the rope bindings, Nine would have appreciated the gesture. Atop the horned lion, he had a vantage point away from the crowd that had gathered. The gathered Wands parted around them as the Knight led his steed forwards, whispering to each other or outright calling to the Knight to explain what he was doing, all the while gathering more and more members the deeper they walked into the palace of fire. 

Nine recognised the path to the throne room, and felt the sick despair in his stomach grow. He knew that as soon as he was presented to the monarchs, his fate would be sealed. The only hope he had was that they would listen to him enough that his punishment would not be too severe. It was a small hope, and one that Nine did not bother to give much thought to.  

He thought again of Seven, and tried to be mad. But Nine had never gotten the hang of being angry at Seven. 

“The Knight of Wands,” the herald standing by the throne room announced, as he opened the great oak door that served as a final barrier between the ruling party, and their court. “And company,” the herald tacked on hastily, noticing Nine. 

Nine paid him no attention, twisting himself up as best he could to catch a glimpse of the King and Queen of Wands. 

He had to admit, even in the privacy of his own head, that they were a beautiful couple. Perhaps not as lovely as Nine’s own King and Queen but obviously still worthy of their titles as rulers of the Court of Wands. Both of them were tall and pale, hair catching the light in such a way to give them both halos of gold around their heads. Jutting from each of their heads were large horns. The Queen’s curled delicately around her ears while the King’s swept up and back, reminiscent of deer antlers. 

Set just behind both of them, was the Page of Wands. She too was pale, with long blonde hair that framed an oval face. There was something about her, Nine thought as he met her eye. There was something just slightly wrong with the Page of Wands. 

He had no more time than a second to take it all in. 

The King stood, the lion headed staff that served as his wand towered over both him, and the rest of the court. There was a smile across his handsome features, but Nine could see nothing of it in his eyes. The Queen remained sitting in her wooden throne, chin perched delicately on her head as she gave her attention to the court. 

“You’re back early,” the King said. “When the Ace came with your message I thought it to be a joke. The court expected you to hunt for seasons, not a few weeks.” 

The Knight bowed low, arm sweeping out in a grand gesture. “The spoils came early,” he said. 

“And what is it exactly, that you have caught and considered worthy enough to present before the court?” The King was obviously humouring him. 

“Oh merely a bird,” The Knight turned, reaching up to the thick ropes that bound Nine to his steed. With a sharp flick of the Knight’s wrist the ropes fell to the ground, leaving only the bindings around his wings, wrists and ankles. “Just a small bird, who decided to fly somewhere he had no business being near.” The Knight pulled Nine off his mount.

He fell in an ungraceful sprawl across the courtroom floor at the Knight’s feet. The fall jarred the ropes around his limbs, sending a fresh wave of burning pain that Nine gritted his teeth against. He would not give the Knight the satisfaction of vocalising his pain. This close to the floor he could see that the dark wood was worked through with veins of a black obsidian in a pattern that screamed of a powerful spellweave. 

“What is this?” The Queen asked. 

Nine raised his head, looking her in the eyes. He saw her recoil, hand over her mouth as she stifled a gasp. She knew his nature then. She knew that he was not a simple brigand, a man without a number or a court to belong to. He wondered at the picture he presented then; prostrated in spelled rope with the bruises of his captivity still fading across his cheeks. 

“You will explain this, Knight.” The King said. 

“Of course, majesty. You see, on my hunt to find the thief who so cruelly stole our Page’s heart I found that a mischief of crows was whirling over the fields of emberheart flowers. As I’m sure your majesties are well aware that those fields have belonged to the Court of Wands since before the Wheel turned in its axis. There was no reason I could think of that would require so many creatures of air to wheel over those fields. And, well you Majesty, when I investigated the reason do you know what I should happen to find? Why the disgraced Knight—Now Nine of Swords!” 

Shamed as he was, Nine couldn’t help but pull his lips into an amused smile at the Knight of Wands’ blatant showmanship. From the back of the court came a raucous cry. The Knight certainly knew his audience. Though from the dais there was a stony silence. 

The Knight bristled, “Well?” He demanded. “Does he not deserve the fullest extent of your judgement? We do not suffer those who trespass lightly?” 

The King raised his hand. The Knight fell into a sullen silence. 

“I tasked you to find the thief who stole the Page’s heart,” the King said, “I don’t understand why you call off your hunt to bring me a man who happened to be in the wrong place.”  

Nine took another look at the Page. Her heart? Truly? Someone had stolen it? That was deep magic, reserved for the named ones, or the most powerful of sorcerers. Yes, he could see it now. She had the faded, absent look of someone missing pieces of themselves. A person could live that way for many years, if they had the aptitude for it, and had the willpower to find or grow that organs that had been stolen. But most afflicted merely… faded away. 

It was a horrible fate to befall anyone. 

“You did, majesty.” The Knight acknowledged. “And I have done exactly that. You see, it wasn’t a flower that I found on the Nine of Sword’s person the day I found him in the fields. It was this.” The Knight thrust out his hand, opening his fingers to display Nine’s little trinket, the piece of spelled metal that he wore along the cuff of his ear. 

“Oh,” the Page breathed. “Is that, may I see that?” She had half stood out of her seat, a delicate hand holding the wood frame as if it was the only thing supporting her weight. Her other was held out to the Knight, begging him for the trinket. 

The Knight was only too happy to oblige, moving from the center of the throne room to closer to the raised dais, where he handed the Page the twisted bit of metal. As soon as it hit her fingers, the entire thing turned the pink of a new dawn. 

“Oh,” the Page said again. 

Nine stared at her, and the glowing spellwork in her hands. No, no, it couldn’t be. Seven could not have given him a trinket with the Page of Wands’ heart trapped inside it. But the evidence in front of his eyes could not have been a lie. Not with the shock painted across the Page’s face, or the righteous fury writ large across the King and Queen’s. 

“You said you found him in the emberhearts.” The King said. 

“Fitting, isn’t it?” The Knight commented. He had come back to the center of the room, and was addressing the gathered members of the court as much as he was the King. 

“What were you doing there?” 

It took a moment for Nine to realise that the question was addressed to him. He wondered how much the truth would cost. That he had been there to return something that had been stolen, and the Knight had happened to find him at exactly the wrong time. Seven had been the one to steal a flower, gifting it to Nine as an afterthought before Nine had argued with him. He had been in that field for good intentions. 

Not to mention that he had not stolen the Page of Wands’ heart, that he had had no idea that such powerful magic had been in the trinket to begin with. Nine had never been one for sorcery, unless the spell was one for ruin. 

He wet his dry lips, head bowing in deference, “Your majesty, there’s been a mistake.” 

“A mistake,” the Knight scoffed. “Do you hear this? He was caught with the Page’s heart, and still he tries to evade judgement!”

“Knight.” the King snapped. 

The Knight fell silent, chastened. 

“Well?” The King said, again to Nine. 

Nine looked between the King, the Page with her shining heart, the Knight still scowling at him. And he looked at the assembled members of the rest of the court, all of them waiting for a show. None of them would believe him. The Knight was right, the evidence was too damning. 

Besides, if Nine had not been the thief, then he knew exactly who it had been. So Nine bowed his head, surrendering, giving the court of Wands his utter, and final defeat.

 

* * *

 

Seven perched on one of the tall, scraggly trees that dotted the lands of the Court of Swords. This particular tree overlooked the valley of the Court of Wands’ forest. Smoke rose in pillars from the red and yellow canopy, clouding the air above with ash. There was always something burning in that forest. He was joined by a mischief of Stormcrows. Five of them fighting over the tiny real estate left on the tree, while another handful whirled over his head.

Seven pushed his beaked mask up, glaring down at the court of Wands. Somewhere in the forest below was the Nine of Swords. 

“Tell me again,” He ordered the crows. 

The one nearest to him turned its head, flapping its wings in agitation before opening its beak and cawing. “We saw the Nine tied up in tight ropes, spelled ropes, staring at the sky as the Knight of Wands took him into the heart of the forest. It was too hot, far too hot for us to get close so we came for you.” 

“And that’s everything. You don’t remember any more?” 

“Nothing more, nothing more.” The Crow’s chorused. 

But the one trying to make a nest on the thinnest branch of the tree crowed, “He’s angry with you! Your fault he said! Shouldn’t have stole he said!”

Seven grimaced. That too, was old news. 

They had been arguing before Nine had gone missing. Seven had given him a gift of emberheart flowers, only a few blossoms, and surely not enough for any one to miss. Nine had disagreed. He’d pointed out that the Court of Wands kept a close eye on those fields, and that if anyone should find Nine with them he’d be in serious trouble. Far more serious than the other bits and pieces that Seven had brought back to the nest before. Seven had just thought the flowers were pretty. He didn’t see what the fuss was even if they were filled with magic. 

Considering the current state of Nine, perhaps he should have heeded the warnings more carefully. 

It was his fault. And his to correct. 

The King and Queen of Swords had disagreed. A moment ago, Seven had been pleading his case to the court. Wasn’t is their duty to protect their charges from the harm of the other courts? Wasn’t it right that someone free Nine from a sentence that he surely didn’t deserve? 

No.

According to the King and Queen, Nine’s plight was his and his alone. Seven had begged, and pleaded, and screamed at them to change their mind, but nothing had. The Rulers of Air had decided that the peace between the court of Swords and Wands was more important than the life of the Nine of Swords.

He was in a word, expendable. 

Seven had been ordered not to fan the flames. But his majesties were idiots if they truly thought that he would stay away when his love was in peril. He may be a thief, and an idiot, but Seven had never been one abandon those he loved. He didn’t plan to start now. 

“The ropes are spelled,” he said. 

The Stormcrows chattered, agreeing. “Fire spells, powerful ones too!”

Seven had been worried about that. Only worried mind, because there had yet to be a spellweave that Seven hadn’t found a way to unravel eventually. But the more powerful the spell, the more complicated the weave, the more time Seven would need to find all those tiny hidden points where determined fingers could pluck the whole thing to shreds. He did not have time to examine this spell from every angle, and the consequences of unravelling a fire spell wrong while they were wrapped around another person was… Seven was sure that some Sword’s still carried the burn scars from the last turn of the wheel. 

He would just have to find an alternate way to unravel this knot.

He crouched on the branch of the tree, spreading his wings behind him. The stormwings took the cue, alighting from every branch in a whirl of thick black feathers. Seven pushed the mask back down over his features, the black wood obscuring the upper half of his face, leaving his only feature a cruel smirk. A swipe of his thumb across the silken threads woven through the wood under his left eye activated the spellweave woven there. It was a subtle thing, to Seven the only indication that the spell was active was a slight, comforting weight settling across his body and a warmth that was at odds with the chilled air. While the spell was active he was undetectable by magical means. If someone wanted a look at him, they would have to do it with their own eye. With a powerful uncoiling of muscles, Seven leaped off the tree, and joined the Stormcrows in flight. 

The more curious Stormcrow’s cawed at him. “Your love is in the other direction! Tell us your plot! Tell us the plan! Why head further into the land of Swords? Is the Seven a coward as well as a thief?”

“I’m no coward,” Seven growled, whirling through the cold air. “And either leave me alone or be quiet!” 

He did not think for even a second that they would follow either order until they knew what he was doing. Crows were curious creatures, and Seven was a curiosity who always delivered an interesting story to bring back to the nest. The further he flew, the more bored and more impatient the Stormcrows got. A few of them peeled away, looking for more interesting prospects to bother. Seven heard fragments of the Hermit’s lamp and the constant game the crows played to steal its light. Until eventually Seven was left with only two companions. 

Still he flew on, and up, wings struggling to find purchase on the thin air. Below him the court of Sword’s was finally laid out like a fine map. First the lowlands, which while still higher than most courts were comfortable with, did not make those who visited shiver and go pale with an overabundance of air. Here was the only part of the Sword’s domain inclined to grow plant life in any abundance. Above the farmland towered the cliffs of the main court. Where the numbered and Stormcrows made their nests, and where all functions that were for only for the eyes of the Swords, and their very treasured of guests, took place. And then high above those, floating between the clouds, were the islands. 

All courts had their secret places. The places where not even the Named Ones were invited to tread. Seven had stolen his way into the Cup’s labyrinth hidden under a deep, fast flowing river. He’d found the vaults made of stone that the court of Pentacles kept their fortunes.  

The Islands was where the court of Swords kept their old arms, the pieces of magic deemed too dangerous, their history woven into metal blades and cross guards. It was there that Seven would find what he needed to rescue Nine. 

This high, the wind was spelled to form thick walls of air, preventing all but the most powerful sword from getting through without the key. Seven had no key, and he was not powerful. But Seven was very determined and that made up the difference. 

He flew up, riding the rising hot air that drifted up from the Forest of Wands. His wings spread out to their fullest extent to catch even the smallest of thermals. The spelled winds surrounding the Islands buffeted at him, causing him and the few stormcrows left into wild, wheeling arcs every which way, trying to force Seven back down to Earth. He used the momentum of the push to glide onto another thermal, staying close enough to an island that it was always a mere wingspan away. 

Soon the thermals and abused spell-winds had sent him flying up close to the sun, high above even the tallest island. And it was the tallest island that Seven needed to reach. There, so close to the edge of the world that the air was nothing more than a whisper, was the Hidden Armoury. 

Seven spied it below him. Taking in the large rock pockmarked with dozens of blades that had been thrust through it that made up the center of the island. He positioned himself above that central point and folded his wings against his back. Seven dropped like a stone. The wind whipping at his skin leaving it tender and raw as Seven used gravity to force his way through the holes in the spellweave. There was always one, that was the nature of magic. It was simply a way of angling his body in such a way that he went through that hole, instead of eviscerated by the winds around it. 

Simple in words. 

Excruciatingly difficult in deed. 

And to make matters even more complicated, Seven had to do all of it in silence, or else the guardian of the Hidden Armoury would notice his presence and would throw him out on his ear. If not tear him to pieces just as well as the wind would. Swans were known for being particularly vicious, especially to trespassers. 

Seven grimaced in challenge at the spellweave, holding a scream of pain behind his gritted teeth. Chunks of errant feathers were torn from his wings as Seven continued down. He could see the weft of the weave now, silver threads crisscrossing in the air, as well as the sharp smell of . And there, two feet below his nose and slightly to the right was the place where the threads shifted, leaving a natural hole just big enough for someone of Seven’s slight built to slip through it. 

He twisted in the air, tucking his wings even closer to his back as he plummeted. Each second bringing him another foot closer to the spellweave, and possibly his doom. The silver strands were so close that Seven could see the runes that twisted together to form the very thread it was made from.  

And then he was through. 

The howling winds fell away. Seven snapped his wings out to their fullest breadth, catching himself a mere ten feet away from an undignified death of crashing to the ground. He even managed to land gracefully, tucking his legs under himself at the last second so that the taloned claws of his feet curled over barren rock. 

There was a whisper of displaced earth as he let the Island take his full weight. Heart in his throat, Seven waited for the guardian Swan to bugle the alarm at an intruder. 

There it was, back turned to him for now, resplendent white against the clear blue sky. Sat on the very peak of the central rock where the most dangerous swords were kept. In that rock were the swords that had been used before the turn of the wheel, when the Courts had been at open war instead of the uneasy truce they currently lived under. Made of silver and iron, they were not spelled so much as had been made the very antithesis of a spell. Magic failed before them. In a single slice a sword like that could cut through even the strongest magical workings. 

The Swan shuffled, long neck curving up towards the sky, wings spreading in a restless fidget. Seven stilled, not even daring to breathe. He watched the swan settle back down, head turned upwards to watch the few crows that had managed to make it this high up. Seven crept forwards. He tiptoed forwards, stepping lightly to not disturb more loose stone as he reached his prize. 

One of the crows cawed, whirling in a downwards spiral that spanned the whole of the island. Seven froze again, watching the swan track the black form. Then he leapt forwards, using the crows continued screeching to hide the sounds of his scrabbling up the large rock to reach the nearest sword. He took a moment to check the pommel, pressing his fingertips lightly to the design etched there. Static clung to his fingertips, not of a spellwork but of the complete absence of one, sucking in the light workings of Seven’s shield that kept him hidden from scrying. 

Seven grabbed the hilt of the sword, and tugged. The sword barely moved. Seven tugged again, planting his feet firmly on either side of the blade. The blade shifted, and then came out of the stone with enough force that it almost sent Seven careening off the stone. He flailed, holding tight to the blade as his wings spread to catch his weight, and there he was stuck, as the swan once again ruffled it’s feathers. This time the swan waddled off the rock, patrolling it’s domain. Seven watched it with baited breath, just waiting for it to turn and notice him. It would only take a small movement, and then he would be done. 

He watched as it came ever closer, weaving this way and that as it made it’s way across the stone. And then watched as the swan turned completely around, deciding that the swords on it’s left were of more interest than the ones on it’s right. Seven, on that right side, couldn’t breathe. He didn’t waste a single second, leaping into the air with a gentle whuff of displaced air as his wings carried him up and out of the spellweave, and then west, back to the court of Wands.

 

* * *

 

Nine paced. There wasn’t a lot of room to pace in, stuck as he was in a tall tower somewhere in the heart of the Wands territory. The room was roughly circular, with a small window that opened up to the sky facing to the west. Nine had already tried to use it as an escape. It hadn’t worked. The window was too small to accomodate his shoulders, and even if it hadn’t been, the windowsill itself was threaded with a burning spellweave, set to activate if anything within the room tried to pass it. Nine had left that encounter with sore fingertips.

Trying at all had been a moot point from the beginning however. Even if he had been able to use the window, he wouldn’t have gotten far. The Knight of Wands had replaced the rope bindings with a thin copper chain that wrapped around Nine’s left ankle. The other end of the chain was buried in the center of the stone floor. That too, was set to burn Nine if he dared tamper it. If he made it to the end of his sentence with only half of his body burned, it would be a miracle. 

So Nine paced, first the five steps that took him north to south, and then the five steps that took him east to west, all the time trying not to stare out at that sliver of blue sky. He longed to stretch his wings, to fly away from this place. The chain around his ankle barely let him touch the walls of his prison. 

He had been here three days already, the court below him deliberating on what guests to invite to his execution. There would be an execution, that was something that no one had bothered to change. It was merely the details of the event that had to be made just right before they could put Nine out of his misery. 

He was starting to look forward to it, if only because it would be a change of pace from the endless monotony of his imprisonment. 

It was at least not as bad as it could have been. Despite the binding of his wings, the court of Wands had not indulged in the petty cruelties that could be applied to prisoners under their power. There had been no further beatings, no visitors in the night, and twice a day, morning and night, a guard brought a pitcher of water and a bowl of bland gruel. 

The guards themselves did not talk to Nine. They did their best to not even make eye contact. That suited Nine just fine; they did not bother him, and he did not bother them. 

Today the evening meal was late. That had been the other reason for the pacing. The Wands as creatures of fire were wont to do things under the rule of the sun’s motions through the sky. When the sun rose he was fed. When the sun set he was fed again. Through the small window, the sky was a brilliant crimson, the last remnants of the sun on the horizon, and still Nine had yet to be brought food. 

Had they forgotten? That seemed very unlike the Knight of Wands. Perhaps it was revenge for being such a boring prisoner these last three days. Hunger gnawed at the insides of his stomach. One downfall of course of being fed regularly was that the body adjusted. It had been fed earlier at a specific time for three days. It demanded it’s evening meal to be brought to it. 

Nine had told it off several times during his pacing. His stomach hadn’t listened to him. 

The chain clinked around his ankle as he made another sweep of the room. When he got out of here he was going to do something horrible to Seven. What, exactly, he wasn’t sure of yet. 

...If he ever got out of here. 

He sighed, gazing out of the tiny window, watching as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared below the horizon. In the distance, Nine swore that he could see the shadows of a flock of stormcrows wheeling up towards the highest parts of the sky. He turned away from the window.

 

* * *

 

By the time Seven made it to the court of Wands, it was almost midnight. The time suited him well enough; the black of his wings blended neatly into the dark sky until he was nothing more than another shadow among many. The last of the stormcrows had finally whirled away into other skies when the palace of fire came into view. They knew better than to accompany him on serious business. Of course, that hadn’t stopped them from wheeling up and around as they departed. Seven was only glad that this time they had remembered to do it silently.

The extra shadows they cast from the moon’s light was another source for Seven to hide his form in. A measure he certainly needed. The security had changed since the last time Seven had visited this particular court. Fewer windows were open in the evening for a start. That would have been more of a hindrance, if Seven had truly been looking for any way in. 

He glided around the court, avoiding bright lit windows and guards patrolling with the familiar practised ease of a professional burglar. His eyes peeled for the the one window in the whole building that he truly cared about. There it was, invitingly open just as Seven had been counting on. He shifted on his wingtips, turning towards the building to alight on the balcony that led straight into the Page of Wands’ rooms. 

He perched on the railing of the balcony, shaking out his wings so they settled neatly on his back before he knocked at the large, arched doorway that served as a window. He couldn’t see inside thanks to a cream curtain that was just sheer enough to give the impression of shadows behind it and nothing more. 

One of those shadows seemed to be coming closer however, and the closer it got to the doorway, the more Seven was sure that it was taking on the silhouette of his favourite occupant of the castle of fire. A second later, and the door to the balcony was flung open, and Seven found himself with an armful of Page. 

“You look better,” Seven said to her, once they had disentangled each other from his wings, and her silk robes. He pressed a hand to the bit of twisted metal hanging from her neck. “I see the heart you bargained has come back to you.” 

The Page nodded, her slim hand joining his claws at her throat. “I didn’t ask for it,” She said, “I had no idea that he had it at all, and in front of the entire court there was no way to refuse it. I’m sorry. You won’t abandon me will you?” 

Seven tutted, “The deal was that I had a piece of your heart, and would help to spirit you out of the castle. I can’t hold my end of the bargain when you haven’t held up yours.”

The Page wilted. 

“But, seeing as how you also aren’t out of the castle the original agreement is a moot point, isn’t it,” Seven continued, a smirk coming to his lips as the Page pouted at him for the trickery. 

“A new deal then?” She said. 

Seven pretended to think about it, “It does look like I have an opening for an accomplice at the moment. What’s your opinion on betraying your court and rescuing my lover from your prison?” 

The Page laughed, bright as she nodded. Then her countenance faltered and her sweet mouth turned down at the corners, “I am sorry,” she said. “This is all my fault.”

“No, the fault is mine,” Seven was quick to reassure her. “I never told him what I had given him, I knew he wouldn’t understand, and then I was stupid enough to get into a lovers quarrel that sent him straight into your courts arms.”

“But it’s not just a lovers quarrel!” the Page insisted. “How can it just be that, when your love will be put to death if the Knight gets his way? I wish I had never given you my heart at all if this is what it caused!”

“Would you have preferred to marry?” Seven asked, he tugged the two of them into her rooms, closing the door to the balcony firmly shut behind his wings. As the glass covered the doorway once more there was a flash of red light, the workings of a spellweave activating. He recognised it as a privacy spell, much like the one woven into his mask. 

“Yes!” the Page said. “Nine is going to die, if you don’t do something! You must do something, please tell me you have a plan!”

Seven smirked, “My dear, you should know that I always have a plan.” He pressed at the corners of his mask with his thumbs, fingers spread out and up around his head. In an instant the gaps between the slender digits were coated with the thin sheen of a spellweave. Seven tossed his hands up, and then quickly flung them downwards, casting the threads of the spellweave around his person where the magic took affect. The silver threads spun, sinking into his form, altering it until his feet were no longer talons, and his wings had sunk into his back. His bones as well became longer, sharper, losing their hollow nature as he turned himself into a creature of fire. Even his hair changed, turning from light gold to the darker, redder browns that characterised most of the court of Wands. 

His eyes however, stayed the grey that they had always been. There were some things that only the most powerful of sorcerers would have no trouble changing, and eyes were at the very top of the list. 

“I’ll need new clothes,” He said, once the spell had sunk fully into him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, examining the fine silver threads that he could just see lining his skin, “I can’t very well pass myself off as a member of your court while wearing garments obviously made to accommodate wings. 

The Page blinked, still enraptured by the memory of the spell. She nodded her sharp chin at odds with her widened eyes. “I have it. Wait right here, I’ll only be a moment.” She left Seven in her chambers, shutting the door behind her skirts with a resounding thunk of heavy wood settling in a frame. 

In the time it took for the Page to come back, Seven amused himself by wandering around her chambers, opening and closing the many doors and drawers that concealed all the really interesting items. She had hidden her workshop better since the last time he had visited. Gone was the little box under the bed, and instead little bottles that could have been perfumes, or could have been spell ingredients were dotted around the bureau that just so happened to be placed next to a wardrobe that contained shoes, the ones that were worn less often, neatly stored in their boxes below the everyday shoes that had earned a place on the wooden shelves of the dresser. It was almost disappointing to find how skilled the Page had become at subterfuge. Seven had no way of knowing what she was working on now, unlike before when a quick glance at her secret box had told him all that he needed to. 

There were a few letters on her desk, and Seven made quick work of reading through correspondence between the Page and other important members of the four courts as they gossiped and arranged all the various bits and pieces that kept the wheel turning in their separate yet connected lands. Nothing interesting, though there was a note that the Emperor would be wintering with the Pentacles as they discussed laws. Seven made a note to stay far away from that court for the time being. He had made it a rule to himself to never be in the same room as either the Emperor, Empress, or worse Justice. 

He didn’t bother to set down the letters back in any particular order. If the Page hadn’t wanted him to read them, then she wouldn’t have made them so easy to find. 

He was halfway through a rather sordid entry on the romance between two low ranked wands when the Page re-entered the room. A large bundle of red fabric threatened to fall out of her arms with every step she took. Seven dropped the letter, coming to her rescue and taking up a share of the fabric. 

“I got us guard uniforms,” the Page explained once they had deposited her prize onto the bed. She held up a buttoned tunic, pale yellow with threads of fine red embroidery covering the chest and sleeves in a protective spellweave. “The Knight has your Nine in a tower that only members of the guard are allowed entrance to.”

Seven picked up the maroon felt hat, turning it around in his fingers, “You brought two.”

“You did say you wanted an accomplice,” the Page said. 

“It’ll be dangerous,” Seven warned. 

“And that’s exactly why you should have someone backing you up.” 

“I take it there’s no way to change your mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I shan’t bother.” Seven smiled, easy. He undid the buttons of his shirt, prompting a surprised eep! from the Page before she gathered up her half of the uniforms again and vanished behind her dressing screen. Seven shook his head, pleased at how easy it was to startle her.

The clothes fit easily around his altered body, tall leather boots that went up to his knees, meeting dark trousers that were held up with a belt with a holster for his wand at it’s left side.The Page had brought two of the standard wands as well: weak things good enough only for the most standard of spellweaves. Seven shifted the holster so it was on the other side of his body. He put the sword on his back, belt looped over his shoulders, before covering the sheath with the guardsman’s faded red coat. The hem of the coat met smartly at the base of his hips, a perfect fit. 

When Seven looked into the large mirror the Page had on one of her walls, it was to see a court of fire guard staring back at him. He smirked, watching as the guard in the mirror matched the expression. So long as no one looked too closely at his eyes, no one would be able to tell that he was anything more than what he appeared to be. 

“Oh,” the Page said, coming from behind her dressing screen. Seven saw her reflection join his own in the mirror. Gone was the gentle Page, in her place there stood a young woman, hair pinned up behind her ears, pale yellow eyes shadowed by the brim of a hat that sharpened the already sharp features of her face to diamond points. 

“You gave yourself the higher rank,” Seven said, eyeing the larger flames on the crest that was pinned to the Page’s collar. Her flame had a white heart, while his was mere pale yellow. 

“I know where your Nine is held,” the Page pointed out, “It makes more sense if I am the one with the higher rank when I am the one leading you. Anyway, I’m always a higher rank than you, and it never seemed to distress you.”

Seven gave her an easy smile, “Perhaps I was looking forward to commanding you to do my bidding.”

The Page smiled back, “When I am gone from the palace, you shall have your wish I suppose. A mage’s apprentice barely deserves the title, even if she is learning from a named one.” 

“I look forward to it,” Seven said, he saluted, one soldier to another. “Well then captain, where is our quarry?” 

That earned him a bright laugh. The Page saluted back, with much better form than the sloppy performance that Seven had given. “Follow me, soldier, and tip your hat lower, or we’ll be caught in a second.” She marched out the door, one hand resting on the wand at her belt. 

Seven followed, dutifully pulling the slight brim of his hat further over his face. 

At this time of night, only the most nocturnal of the wands was still up and about. The halls of the court were almost entirely deserted, the large wooden structures that comfortably held tens and hundreds of people every day, echoing with the strange silence of two people walking through them. 

Various foxes ran between rooms, parchment scrolls held delicately between their teeth. A few cleaners went about their business, mops and rags and bottles of soap tied to their belts. None of them seemed to notice anything odd as Seven and the Page passed them. Seven kept his eyes low anyway, feeling oddly exposed as they walked through the great halls of the court, until they were in a different wing to the royal rooms entirely. 

This was a part of the palace that visitors were not permitted in, evidenced by the lack of decoration across the pale wooden walls. The doors, made of a darker, heavier wood lined the corridor in severe rows. Seven had been in enough prison cells to know when he was walking between them. 

An uncomfortable feeling twisted in his stomach as the Page led him further down the corridor, and then up a long flight of spiral staircases. It was all too easy to think of Nine trapped in this environment, and the image that came to Seven’s head was one that caused him to almost gag. 

“Here,” the Page said, as they came to the top of the tower. She pointed at the door, no different from the other doors they had passed on their way up. “I don’t have the key though, the Knight keeps it close and only hands it to the guards when Nine needs to be fed. That won’t be a problem, will it.”

Seven had already half tuned her out, pressing his fingertips to the keyhole on the door. “I would be a rather terrible thief if one locked door was enough to keep me out, wouldn’t you say?” He was already pushing his own threaded spells through the opening, watching as the weave along the lock protested at being meddled with. Careful, steadying his breathing, Seven nudged that spellweave with his own thread, testing for the inevitable weakness that would be hiding amongst the stronger threads. 

Behind him, he could feel the Page fidgeting with the buttons on her uniform, weight rocking back and forth as she became more and more agitated. Seven tried to pay it no mind, to treat it as the background noise that stormcrow cries became the longer he stayed around them. There was only him, and the lock, and the weave keeping it from accepting his key spell. …And there, tucked between two of the teeth, was the little thread that hadn’t been tied off properly. 

Seven tugged at it, watching as the magic dissipated, the threads losing the lustre of an active spell. There was no resistance when he tried the handle. He pushed the door open the bare amount he needed to slip through the crack. The Page slipped in behind him, but Seven barely even noticed her presence. He was too caught in the stare of the Nine of Swords to notice anything else. 

“Oh,” Seven breathed. He stepped forwards, stopping abruptly when the sound of his boots tapping against the stone floor caused Nine to flinch. His chin jerked up, hiding the weakness that Seven could so obviously see brewing in the tense gaze that Nine had levelled at him. The days in the locked tower had not been kind to Nine. He was not starved at least, as far as Seven could see, nor was he in any kind of physical pain, but the mental stress was etched so deeply into his face that it hurt Seven just to look at it. “Oh my dear.”

“I am not your dear, Wand.” Nine said. He stood up from the bed, stepping into the tiny little window of moonlight that was the only source of light in the whole room. Of course, of course his love had withered without any clear skies, or bright sunlight to keep him fortified.  

“Nine,” Seven stepped forwards again, “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re truly sorry, you’ll leave now before you have something to be sorry about,” Nine snapped. There was a frisson of fear pulsing in his pale grey eyes. “Stop giving me platitudes and either leave, or get on with it.” 

The Page made a hurt sound in the back of her throat, “We wouldn’t!” 

“Yes, and I’m sure that’s why the two of you have come to my cell, in the middle of the night. It’s exactly because you wouldn’t do anything.” 

Seven couldn’t stand another second of this. He had been with Nine in a variety of different forms, and in every one Nine had never once failed to recognise him. Imprisonment had obviously clouded his senses. Seven threw off the hat, tearing at the spellweave around his face until the visage of the Knight of Wands was nothing more than a memory. “Nine, it’s me,” He said, coming forwards again so he could cup his lovers face in his hands, to meet his gaze. 

Nine stilled. He wasn’t even breathing. “Oh,” He said, an exhale of a breath more than any words. “I had thought…” And then he was sobbing, curling around Seven’s shorter form. His entire body trying to wrap around him. There was a hiss of pain, and a rustle of feathers as Nine’s bound wings tried and failed to move outside of their confines. 

“Stop,” Seven urged, “You’re hurting yourself. I need to cut you out.”

“They’re spelled!” Nine cried, “no one but the most powerful of mages would carry something that could just cut them off me!” 

“Then it’s very lucky that I happen to have met enough of those powerful mages to know when to bring something that can do such a thing, isn’t it.” Seven said. He pressed a kiss to Nine’s lips, brief but firm, before he drew back just enough to draw the sword slung across his back. 

The blade shone frosted silver in the moonlight. Every sigil carved into the metal glittering with a radiance found only in the objects that were so real they reached magical from the other side. 

“You didn’t,” Nine breathed, his eyes the size of dinner plates. “Seven, those swords are hidden away for a reason! I was one of the people to hide them in the first place!”

“Someday,” Seven mused, hefting the sword up as he walked around Nine, “You will find that there is nothing I won’t steal to help you.” With that he brought the weapon down, effortlessly slicing through the humming spellweave wrapped tightly around Nine’s wings. The red thread fell in pieces, dissipating as ashes to the ground. Not a single white feather on Nine’s back had been touched. 

“Oh,” Nine whimpered as the last of the spell faded. His wings flung themselves out to their full, glorious breadth. “Oh, that has no right to feel so good.” 

The chain was next, and with another swipe of the sword, it too was nothing more than a metal cuff around Nine’s ankle, and a twisted set of metal chains that led to nothing on the floor. 

Seven laughed, flapping his own wings just enough to give him the leverage to flip over Nine’s head and draw him into yet another hug as soon as his clawed feet were once again on the ground. Nine’s wings wrapped around his body, this time unhindered and perfect. “You see? You never have to worry. There is no situation, no trap that I will not be able to free you from.” 

Nine drew back, “if I recall, you’re the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.” The words hard, brooking no argument. 

Seven darted his eyes away to the tiny window of the cell. “Ah.”

“You won’t deny it then.” 

“There was the agreement that I would never lie to you if you asked me something directly,” Seven said. It was a poor argument, and the shove at his chest only made it worse. 

“So it’s true.” Nine said. “You stole the Page of Wands’ heart and turned it into a trinket for me to wear on my belt? Did you not think about the consequences of that when you gave it to me?”

“Admittedly,” Seven started. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Nine snapped. “I know you’re a thief but really Seven, I did not expect this from you!”

“Perhaps I should explain,” the Page of Wands said. 

The two swords wheeled as one to stare at her. Seven had almost forgotten that she was still here to begin with. 

“Who exactly are you?” Nine demanded. 

The Page took off the guard’s cap, allowing her campfire-coloured hair to fall freely around her face. Seven heard Nine’s sharp inhale, and knew that the Page’s frank introduction of her real rank was barely needed. 

“You don’t know the whole story,” the Page said, “My heart wasn’t stolen. I gave it away! I was glad that you had it, and had no idea that the Knight would go to such trouble to punish you for being in possession of it!”

“Why in Earth and Sky would you give your heart away?” Nine said. 

“Because I want to be a mage,” the Page explained. She came closer to them, hands clasped in front of her. “I want to be an apprentice to the Wizard and a heart will only ever get in the way of that. Seven needed a very powerful ingredient for a spell, and I needed a promise that one day he would help me leave the court. That’s all that it was!”

Nine looks between the two of them, sharp eyes finally piercing through Seven. “Is this true?”

“It is,” Seven said, and found his voice to be rough. “Nine, believe her, believe that I would never steal something as dear as a heart without knowing that it wasn’t wanted in the first place.”

Nine’s face shuttered, closing himself off. Seven’s heart ached to see it. Before they had become involved in each other, Nine had often pulled that mask over his features, hiding his real self from all who might have been there to see it. In the many turns of the wheel that they had traded swords, Seven had never once been shown that mask.

He had hated it before. 

He finds that right now he downright loathes it. 

“Nine…”

“You should have told me,” Nine said. 

“Yes.” 

“And you should have made sure to hide it better. What do you think would have happened if I had been chosen to take a message to the court of wands?” 

“…I had not thought of that,” Seven admitted.

“You didn’t think at all,” Nine said. And then he sighed, face opening up again to a smile that was worn at the edges from old love and pure relief.  “But I find that knowing you weren’t deliberately malignant is a burden off my soul.” He turned to the Page, “I am sorry about the trouble that Seven has caused.”

“I think it is I that should be apologising to you, still. Here, please, take it. I don’t want it.” She unclasped the brooch that had once been Nine’s ear cuff. 

Nine drew back, “No, I really couldn’t.”

“My heart isn’t inside it anymore.” the Page endeavoured, “There’s just the faint traces of the happiness spell that I made for Seven left. It’s not nearly as powerful as it once was but I’m sure you’ll find more use from it than I will!”

Nine still looked hesitant, even has he brought his hand up to take it. The Page ignored his hand, looping the chain around Nine’s neck instead, where the metal hung as a pendant between his collarbones. He made a small noise as it hit him, the magic activating. 

Seven had spent a long time hovering over the Page of Wands shoulder as she had made the charm to begin with. He knew that with the pendant, Nine was fortified against his usual dark thoughts, in a way that only sunlight and fresh air was usually able to make an effect.

The Page smiled at the two of them, and then she gasped, staring at the little window in panic. “The Moon will change dance halls with the Sun before we are able to get outside the Palace if we don’t leave soon! Seven, can you spell Nine? I’m going to need all my magic to get us out of this room without tripping every spellweave set into the stone!”

Seven stopped his admiration of the little strip of skin he could see between Nine’s collar, jerking into motion. He threw hasty weaves of guards over himself and Nine as the Page pressed her hands to the stone pillar that dominated the center of the circular room. She started muttering frantically to herself, her words spilling out of her mouth as red and gold ribbons that wrapped around herself and spread through the air in fine strands. 

The wards etched into the room turned maroon-red. The Page’s spellwork layered itself ontop of the ancient wards; smaller but brighter, layers upon layers that spilled out from the Page’s mouth until the dark red was almost completely obscured by gold. 

Seven felt Nine take the sword out of his hand, replacing the sword with his own pale fingers. Of course, Nine was the better swordsman out of the two of them. Seven squeezed his hand gently as the two of them turned towards the door. 

Soon. A heartbeat, if that, was enough for the Page’s spell to finish. Her threads flashed brilliant white, the smell of burned spices wafting into the air as the light faded, along with the maroon of the original wards. 

“Run!” She urged, Seven didn’t need the command. He pulled Nine through the door by his arm, sprinting down the spiral staircase fast enough that his hair escaped from the confines of the guardsman’s cap. Behind him came the lighter footsteps of the Page following them a few feet behind, and the dull hum of a powerful magic once again acting upon the world. 

The stones echoed under their feet as they ran, and Seven hoped to every named one that could possibly be listening that they would not be discovered before they were able to leave the palace of fire. 

“There’s a door to the west, that only the foxes use. It comes out in the forest, close to the fields of emberhearts and the cliffs that lead to the territories of air.” the Page said, coming up next to Seven. Her face was red with exertion, mouth open as she panted. Nine was not much better when Seven glanced at him, though he showed it in a different way: where the Page was flushed, Nine looked sickly-pale in the soft lights of the Palace. 

“I remember it,” Nine said, through gritted teeth. “the Knight was kind enough to show it to me on the way in.” It was his turn to tug on Seven’s arm, leading them all westwards. 

Under their feet, the stone turned to crafted woods, inlaid with fine metals that on any other day Seven would be happy to admire for their shine in the right light. This was near the heart of the palace, if Seven was reading the glimpses of the designs properly. Of course, it would be just like a wand to have all their exits and entrances in the middle of the building instead of at the top or bottom. Seven had never had to deal with that the last times he had been here; content to just use whatever window was nearest to throw himself through.

Selfishly, he thought that if it weren’t for the Page, he and Nine could already have been flying away, back to the safety of their own court. But no, he could not. Even if Seven had been one to easily abandon his friends—which he was not—Nine was far too noble to forgive him for even suggesting it as an option if Seven dared to voice that thought aloud. 

Nine’s palm against his own was hot and slick with sweat, and Seven squeezed their fingers together, holding him tight as they ran through the silent halls. 

Their goal was clear as soon as it was in sight. The three of them turned a corner, and in front of them was a doorway that was also a painting that was also a spelled portal. It showed a lush, green forest, that Seven recognised as the forest of Wands that he had flown over with several stormcrow flocks countless times. He had never seen it from ground level before, but he could think of no where else that gave off that energy of lush, vivid, flammable, life. That must be where the portal led to, and Seven pushed what little strength he had saved for one final push towards the painting. 

“Stop.”

The command froze his legs and wings, muscles locked in place. Seven twisted, momentum pulling him into an awkward roll made even more awkward by the way he refused to let go of Nine’s hand. 

“No!” Nine cried, and Seven could only watch as he wrenched his hand away from Seven’s grasp, and pushed him towards the portrait. 

“No! Nine, what are you doing?” 

“Saving your life!” 

As he broke through the spellweave of the portal, Seven could only watch as the Knight of Wands stepped out from the shadows by the portrait, standing between freedom, and the Nine of Swords.

 

* * *

 

Nine tensed, rolling onto the balls of his feet as his wings spread behind him, weight balanced to a fine point as he gazed at his opponent. A few feet away stood the Knight of Wands, red hair glowing faintly in the pre-dawn light that filtered from the high windows and the painting behind him. 

Nine glanced at the painting, searching for a sign of Seven, or the Page in the greenery. He couldn’t find them. Good. He was sure they were near, but seeing Seven’s face right now would only distract him. 

“I was expecting that you’d try something foolish,” the Knight said. His posture was deceptively lax, hands held by his sides in such a way that looked friendly until one realised that it would only take a brief gesture to pull his wand out of it’s holster and aim it straight at Nine. 

Nine drew the sword strapped to his side. It was heavier than the one he was used to carrying, the blade longer and devoid of the usual spellworks that most swords put on their blades to make them more suited to aerial battles. 

The Knight snorted, “You can’t seriously be thinking of challenging me to a duel.” He tossed his head back, “I know you used to be a knight, but you said yourself that it was a long time ago. Do you seriously think that you’ll come out of this unscathed? Give up now! Before you do something foolish and lose a wing for the trouble!” 

“Draw your wand,” Nine said. The promise of battle a heavy rush in his ears. 

“Surrender,” the Knight demanded again. 

“No.” 

“Well, on your own head be it,” the Knight said, and he drew his wand with a flourish that ended with a dark red bolt of energy aimed straight at Nine’s chest. 

Nine dodged, flapping his wings in one powerful downstroke to send him up to the ceiling. The bolt of energy dissipated against a wall, leaving a large burned circle where it had hit. Nine’s feet hit the ceiling, and he twisted, crashing down on the Knight, sword held point down. 

The Knight waved his wand in a wide arc, throwing up a glittering shield of gold that Nine ended up crouched on top of. Through the glowing energy he could see the Knight’s snarling mouth, twisted into a cruel smile. Nine pressed down on the point of the sword. 

“That won’t do anything.” the Knight said, “You don’t really believe that your mastery over spellwork is more than my own?”

Nine didn’t answer, watching the tip of the sword sink down through a shield that in any other circumstance he would have no chance of breaking like it was made out of butter. Any other sword would have glanced off the shield, or been burned to a crisp, but this specific sword went through magic without even acknowledging it was there. 

The blade nicked a thin line across the Knight’s handsome face. Before Nine could cause more damage than that small wound, the Knight reared back, spinning away and firing another spell at Nine. The shield dissipated underneath Nine’s feet, and he fell to the ground, crouching and rolling back onto his feet. Just in time to see another of the Knight’s spell’s aimed at his chest. 

He didn’t have time to dodge, he’d pushed himself against the wall of the corridor, wings brushing against the wooden panels of the walls. 

The spell hit true. Agony seared across Nine’s chest as the crimson spell licked into flame across his tunic. The hastily applied spellweave over his clothes faded, guardsman’s reds fading to undyed cotton that swiftly went brown and black with burns. Nine dropped to the floor in a roll, abandoning the sword so he didn’t stab himself as he tried desperately to get the flames off his body. 

The next spell to hit was binding spell;  gold ropes wrapped around his torso, holding his wings and arms close to his burning chest. Nine struggled, trying to get up off the floor as the same thread travelled down his legs. 

“Stop,” the Knight said, placing a heavy boot on Nine’s sternum. “Struggling will just make the rope work faster, remember?”

Oh yes, Nine remembered how this spell worked. It was why his heart was trying to hammer it’s way out of his chest. He arched up, again straining against the bonds. 

The Knight’s boot pressed down against the burns. Nine screamed, and stopped struggling. 

“There. Let the spell do its job, and let me do mine.” the Knight said. He bared his teeth in an unkind smile, blood dripping down his temple. 

Nine glared up, not giving the Knight the satisfaction of hearing him beg. He could see his sword, agonizingly just out of reach at the other side of the corridor, where he had started this fight. He and the Knight had managed to trade places on the improvised dueling stage during their short fight. 

The Knight’s boot pressed down again on Nine’s chest. A sign that the Wand was annoyed at his lack of playing along. 

“I should kill you here,” the Knight said, “You escaped from your cell, you tried to leave the palace. There is no one in the court who would question my rights to slay you here like a mangy pigeon that’s gotten somewhere it shouldn’t.”

“Go ahead, you’re going to kill me in the morning anyway,” Nine said. He grinned through the pain of his burn, summoning every bit of himself that was too like the Seven of Swords for its own good. 

The Knight snarled, pressing down close, the tip of his wand lighting up with another spell. “Don’t tempt me.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to do something like that.” Nine said. 

Binding spells didn’t require much concentration on the casters part to maintain, not like shields and enhancement spells, but there was a cost to them. Especially when the victim struggled. Nine did not need to struggle. He could feel the threads of the weave against his body, and could see how this one had not been applied as expertly as the bounds that the Knight had used to bring him to the court of Wands at the beginning of his ordeal. 

He breathed out, slowly, feeling the ropes around his chest slacken as he did. At his side, his fingers curled, catching at the strands of spellwork, stretching them further than they were designed. Seven had taught him this trick. Long ago, just after the turn of the wheel, and Nine had been stripped of his rank. 

“And I don’t think your king will be pleased to have missed my demise,” Nine continued, watching the Knight for any signs that he had noticed Nine’s subtle warping of his spell. “nor would the rest of the court be pleased at having to clean up my corpse without being able to see you strike me down.”

The Knight sneered, “When you go back to your cell I think I’ll gag you as well.”

“I’m sure that will prove very effective when you already put me in a solitary room with only my thoughts for company.“ Nine felt the threads of spellwork flex under his fingers. “Anyway, you’ve made a rookie mistake.”

“What?”

Nine pressed his hands flat on the floor, and arched his lower half up, spellweave snapping at the sharp motion. His boot planted itself firmly in the Knight’s crotch. There was a yell of pain, a spell loosed at Nine’s head, the aim too off to do anymore than singe a piece of his hair. Nine winced at the pain, twisting his body around using the Knight and floor as leverage before he sprinted to the door. 

Behind him he could feel the heat of the Knight preparing another spell, hot on Nine’s heels. He pushed a final burst of speed into his legs, tucking his wings in close to his back as he closed the distance between him and the gate. The closer he was to it, the more the image on the other side gained details, dimensions. 

He could see the wings of butterflies in the flowers nestled on either side of the gate, the veins in the many coloured leaves of the great trees, the smell of petrichor and old fire became stronger with every step. 

And he could see Seven’s form, just hidden in the shadows except for a pale hand reaching out towards Nine. He grabbed the hand, and was pulled through the portal. 

As soon as his wingtips had cleared the gate, he caught a glimpse of the Page slam her hands onto the wooden staff that marked where the portal was in the forest. She yelled something in the oldest language, bits of flame falling from her mouth as the designs on the staff glowed red under her hands, and then orange, and blue and purple, until the entire stave lit up a brilliant white before dying. Behind him, Nine felt Seven press his face into Nine’s shoulder blades, arms wrapping around him. 

Nine blinked away the shadowy after-images. Where the staff had been there was now merely a pile of ashes. The portal was broken. The Knight of Wands was trapped in the palace of fire. 

“Where’s the nearest exit?” Nine asked.

“Leagues away,” the Page answered. She wiped at her brow, dislodging the guardsman’s hat and letting her long hair fall down across her face. “Oh! Nine, you’re hurt!”

Seven span him around fast enough to make him dizzy. He splayed his hands over Nine’s ruined clothes, just not touching the burned skin underneath. “I’ll kill him.” Seven snarled.

“No,” Nine snapped. He pulled at the frayed edges of his clothes, electing to remove them entirely instead of trying to fix them. He had never been the best at mending spells to begin with. “You’re not going back to the Court of Wands ever again, as long as we’re both still breathing, do you understand?”

“He hurt you.”

“And I kicked him in his jewels,” Nine brought his hands up to Seven’s face, cupping the skin below his unforgiving, black mask. “I won, Seven. And I can take care of myself, I was a knight you know.” He brought their faces close, sealing their lips in a short kiss. 

Seven’s lips were parted when Nine drew away, and he leaned up to chase Nine’s mouth. 

“Home,” Nine promised. And then he crumpled, folding himself against Seven. For all that he used to hold the title of knight, there was a reason he hadn’t kept it. “Please, Seven. Please can we just go home?”

“Of course, love.”

He felt Seven’s wings wrap around his body. The shorter wingspan comforting by how neatly it pressed against Nine’s sides and back along with Seven’s arms. Nine buried his face in the crook of Seven’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent of the electrical storm that clung to Seven as well as shadow’s and other people’s property did. 

“It’s time we parted,” Seven said, over Nine’s head. “Will you be safe?”

“I’ve known these forests longer than you’ve had a number,” the Page said. “Go! Go home, the both of you!”

“Thank you,” Seven said, “For everything.”

Nine nodded, turning his head to give the Page the respect that she deserved. “I can’t repay what you’ve given me,” he said, hand clutching the pendant that swung above his breast, framed by the black tattoos that had once served as his rank of knight. Within the twisted metal he could feel the warmth of what had once been a powerful spellweave, and even through the remnants he could feel the echo of the Page’s heartbeat.  

“You already have,” the Page said. Her smile wide and earnest, amber eyes glittering. “Goodbye, Seven. Goodbye, Nine.” She gave them one last regal wave, before she clicked her heels together, and disappeared in a flurry of autumn leaves. 

“Our turn,” Seven said. He nuzzled at Nine’s cheek, stealing a last kiss before sweeping Nine off his feet, and into Seven’s arms. 

Nine yelped a laugh, “I can fly on my own wings,” he protested, wrapping his arms around Seven’s neck. 

“Indulge me.” 

“Well. Just this once.” 

By the time the Knight arrived with his guards, the only sign of their presence in the court of Wands, were two feathers left on the ground: one black, one white. Along with the cackling laughter of a mischief of Stormcrows, high above the canopy of the forest.   
  
THE END


End file.
